I'm having lunch on the sidewalk outside my grocery store. A young guy drops off his wife so she can shop. He's driving one of those big-ass pickup truck that are marginally useful if you habitually have to haul a ton of masonry to the worksite but are worthless if the most you ever carry, beyond your own fat ass, is a twelve-pack of brewskies.
This guy drops off his wife and starts driving slowly around the grocery store parking lot. Lap after lap, for twenty minutes, he slowly tours the lot. It's like he's addicted to the smell of poorly burned hydrocarbons.
I know this dullard is a Republican from his Duncan Hunter bumpersticker. I know this cretin is dedicated because of his personalized license plate that spells "Hoonter." He is either a fan of the corrupt congressman from California's 52nd Congressional District or he loves Duncan Jr., the son of said congressman who is running to replace his daddy, for his massive man-boobs.
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